Content warning: This article discusses coercive surgery on children, bottom dysphoria and descriptions of medical procedures.

8 April 2011. At 13 years old, I am admitted to the Protestant Hospital in Spandau, Berlin. I go under at 8:34am and wake up 20 minutes later. I don’t know it at the time, but the surgery confirms my gynaecologist’s tentative diagnosis: a microperforate hymen.

This kind of hymen covers up the vaginal opening, leaving only a very small hole in the middle. Menstrual blood cannot flow out appropriately, which causes painful inflammation. According to the International Classification of Procedures in Medicine, a hymenectomy is undertaken to resolve the issue.

I am never told about my diagnosis in these terms.

Image by: Seth @vein__boy

After the procedure, I wake up and feel drowsy. My father is seated on my right, reading the paper. He lifts his head and finds me awake. With a concerned look, he walks over.

A nurse joins in and offers me tea and a biscuit. I feel nauseated, but I try to make an effort. Then I fall back asleep.

The nurse keeps trying to get me out of bed. I faint at every attempt. She quickly lays me down every time and then we try again. I feel sore and confused from the anaesthesia. When I finally make it to a standing position, my father grabs my things, and we leave to go home.

That night, I go to the bathroom. Rising from the toilet, I can feel something ‘up there’. I look down and find a piece of gauze peeking out from where they made the cuts earlier that day. I pull on it and there is some resistance. I start crying at the shock and discomfort.

I pull and pull, but the gauze seems to be endless. Finally, I manage to get it all out and instantly get a fright that I might have taken it out sooner than recommended. I can’t remember anyone telling me about this ‘tampon’.

Thirteen years go by. I come out as a lesbian and, later, start to date women twice my age or more. I get on testosterone, and off it again. I get a mastectomy to rid myself of boobs and nipples.

I live my life as a non-binary transsexual. My bottom dysphoria, the gendered discomfort I have with my genitals, makes me consider phalloplasty, but the thought of more surgery in my life makes me shy away – for now.

This is the moment that I come across a video in which a woman talks about a procedure she went through as a young teen. I immediately recognise her story as similar to mine – only that she has a name for her condition. I hear the words “microperforate hymen” for the first time, wondering if they apply to me.

She explains that this is a rare condition that could potentially count as intersex genital development.

A chapter of my life opens up in front of me.

Initially, I am surprised at her choice of words. I had thought my condition was neither rare nor anything other than a little hiccup in my anatomy. The possibility of it being an intersex variation fills me with joy, albeit tentatively.

I don’t want to claim a label that is only associated with this condition by some and not others, nor do I wish to feed into ideas of some biological ‘origin’ of my non-binary identity.

Nevertheless, by virtue of experiencing genital trauma at the hands of surgeons, alongside a lack of information on my diagnosis, I cannot help but feel aligned with the intersex community. I also cannot help but feel affirmed by this queer, ‘hymenated’ body.

A few weeks go by after finding the video. The thought of it doesn’t leave me. I want to know more.

I decide to reach out to my gynaecologist to ask her for my surgery report. I am surprised to find that she is still in possession of it, as the obligation to archive such material in Germany expires after 10 years.

She sends it by post to my German home address and since I live in Melbourne, my brother receives it for me. He sends me a crappy photo before throwing it out (don’t ask me why he did that).

Nervously, I open my brother’s text message. My attention is drawn to my deadname at the top of the page – ugh. Underneath, the listed diagnosis catches my eye and confirms my suspicion: “microperforate hymen”.

I move on to the rest of the report:

“The introitus is closed except for a 3mm central opening. Incisions were made at 4 and 7 o’clock.  The surgery revealed a normal-sized vagina, smooth cervix, small and mobile uterus, and free adnexa. Postoperative instructions include pain management with three doses of 600mg Ibuprofen per day and the removal of the tampon tonight.”

I did right by that tampon, after all.

A couple of things are compelling in this report. Behind the introitus – a word most commonly used to name the opening hymn of a Mass – a “normal-sized vagina” was revealed. By virtue of opening the introitus, the vagina was returned to its ‘intended’ use.

This is why gynaecologists undertake this procedure: to assure normal bleeding and normal abilities to engage in penetrative sex and reproduction. What’s interesting to me is that, over the past 13 years, I have never wanted to engage in any of these activities.

Nor do I care for having a “normal-sized vagina”, or a vagina at all.

Additionally, besides an ever-growing amount of bottom dysphoria and vaginismus, I was recently diagnosed with endometriosis – possibly a co-morbidity of the closed hymen.

The endometriosis has altered the state of my uterus. It is now neither “mobile” – as stated in the surgery report – nor fertile. Rather, it is rigid and unwelcoming as the adhesions have fixed it in place over time.

Despite having shoved the surgery into some remote corner of my brain, I am still considering steps to revert its normalising intention. These steps include the closing of the vaginal canal, the making of a surgical penis and the removal of the uterus.

My ongoing interest in these procedures has left me wondering why, in 2011, alternatives to surgery were not discussed with me.

I did not want to have a period, nor have I ever wanted to engage in penetrative sex. I still don’t want to carry children. Nevertheless, surgery was simply a given.

Though I feel tentative about using the label intersex, the experience of undergoing coercive surgeries at a young age without informed consent and alternative options, is shared upsettingly often among members of the intersex community.

As is the case for many intersex people, medical professionals made things possible for me that they expected I would want.

I refuse this ‘gift’.